


Three in the Morning

by karaluvsketchup



Category: Blue Bloods (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: 7x22 The Thin Blue Line, Gen, wait is it a tag if it's set in the middle of the episode, whatever have some feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 10:46:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10897752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karaluvsketchup/pseuds/karaluvsketchup
Summary: The night that his house was burned down, Jack Reagan can't fall asleep. Danny Reagan probably hasn't even tried.





	Three in the Morning

Sean’s softly snoring in Uncle Jamie’s old bed, but Jack’s wide awake to see the digital clock on the desk go from  _ 2:59 _ to  _ 3:00 _ . He’s voluntarily taken a sleeping bag on the floor tonight so the two of them can stay in the same room, but he doubts he’d be having much success in falling asleep even if he were in a real bed. The problem is that just hours ago the house that he’s lived in for almost seventeen years was fully engulfed in flames, and that image isn’t getting out of his head any time soon.

As a family, they’ve sure had their share of scares and close calls. When Jack was eleven and a bullet came through the windshield of their old jeep and ended up buried in the back seat. When he was twelve and his little brother was in a coma after a bad bike accident. A few months after that when half the city was convinced that his dad was a dirty cop. When he was fourteen and his mom got shot.  All of those were bad situations, but temporary ones. After a few rough days, or weeks, months maybe in that last case, things had gotten back to normal.

Though… Jack thinks back even further to a Saturday morning when he was eight, Sean was five, and the two of them got up early to watch cartoons like they did most weeks back then. Usually they’d have the downstairs to themselves for a while, but this time their parents were both sitting in the dining room - Dad slumped over, hands over his face, crying, Mom rubbing his back, saying something quietly in his ear, and her eyes were red like she had been crying too. “Mommy?” eight-year-old Jack said after a few moments.

Mom walked over and got down on her knees to give both of her boys a big hug. “Go get dressed for the day and then we need talk to you two, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy,” Sean said, while Jack just nodded. Sean mostly seemed confused by the whole situation, but at that point Jack knew that something very bad had happened. When they got back downstairs, Dad, who was still crying a little, told them that Uncle Joe had died.

Things were really never the same after that. Sure, they went back to all their normal routines after the funeral, but Uncle Joe’s death left a permanent mark on the entire family. Early on, the biggest thing for Jack was the absence of his uncle at Sunday dinner, though with time he was able to get used to that. As he’s gotten older, however, he’s gotten more aware of the deeper effects, the ways that it’s affected the relationships between the different adult members of his family and the ways that all of them think differently about the Job, even now, eight years later.

This is different from losing a family member, of course. They’ve lost a lot tonight, but it’s just things, most of which can easily be replaced. He hopes that means that this will just be another rough patch for them to get through and get on with their lives.

All this thinking isn’t helping him sleep, though. Eventually, he quietly climbs out of the sleeping bag and heads downstairs for a glass of water. When he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he notices that there’s a light on in the living room, so after getting his drink in the kitchen, he goes to see who else is up.

Unsurprisingly, it’s his dad, sitting in a chair holding a glass with half and inch of scotch in it. He looks over when Jack makes it to the doorway. “You alright, kid?”

“Yeah, Dad. Just couldn’t sleep.” Jack crosses the room and sits in the chair next to the one his dad’s in. “What about you, are you alright?” he adds after several seconds of silence.

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Jack,” Dad says, looking down at his feet, his voice rough. It’s kind of a non-answer, but Jack knows better than to call him on that. Still, he’s never seen his dad act so defeated, and he wishes he knew what to do to help.

Before Jack figures out what to say next, Dad speaks again. “Your grandpa grew up in this house. And I grew up in this house.”

“I know...” Jack’s not quite sure where this is going.

“I’m sorry that you’re not going to have that.”

It’s true, and it hurts that the house is gone, but not having a childhood house to go back to is something he can live with. Half of his friends don’t live in the same houses from when they were little. “We’re okay. We’ll be okay.”

Dad makes a non-committal noise.

“We’ll have this house too.”

“You’ve never lived here.”

“I’ve come here at least once a week my whole life.”

They lapse into silence again for a few minutes after that, until Dad says, “You should go and try to sleep.”

“Okay, dad.” He heads back upstairs and gets back into his sleeping bag, feeling a little more at ease about his own future now, but more worried about his dad. He’s never seen the man act quite so despondent, so defeated. Maybe, being a dad, and being a detective, you learn to not show how much things are bothering you in front of your kids, and this has hit him hard enough that he couldn’t manage to put up that front for the sake of a teenager in the middle of the night. 

A few minutes later, Jack’s relieved to hear the stairs creak as Dad also makes his way up to go to bed.


End file.
